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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563488">I and Love and You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness'>Dredfulhapiness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Iron Dad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:01:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When he burst through the lobby doors, the security guards looked at him, startled. His sneakers squeaked on the tile. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes. His shirt was only half buttoned, his sports coat was soaked. He shook the bouquet of flowers over a trashcan in a weak attempt to dry them off.</p><p>“Can I help you?” One of them asked. Peter offered a toothy smile.</p><p>“I’m, uh. I’m here for the play,” he said.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker &amp; Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>400</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I and Love and You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“—So tonight?” Flash’s voice drew Peter out of his thoughts. He was standing over Peter’s desk, phone unlocked and in hand. His copy of<em> Slaughterhouse-5 </em>was on Peter’s desk.</p><p> </p><p>Peter jerked his attention up to him. “Sorry— tonight for what?”</p><p> </p><p>“To work on this project.” Flash stabbed the book with his finger. “Were you even listening to me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh. No, sorry.” Peter rubbed at his eyes. “I zoned out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great,” Flash said. “We have to work together and you can’t even pay attention to me for five minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Peter said. “I had a late night last night. What were you asking me?”</p><p> </p><p>“If you could come over tonight so we can knock this presentation out. For the third time.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d love to,” Peter said. “But I’m seeing a play tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Around him, people were starting to pack up for the day. People pulled up zippers and out of their seats. Peter tossed his pencil into his bag.</p><p> </p><p>“A play?” Flash raised an eyebrow. Peter nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“A friend of mine is in it,” he explained. “I’m going to support her. I’ll text you tomorrow about when we can meet up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Flash said. “Sure, whatever. Enjoy the play. I’m sure you don’t see that many of them.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter ignored the dig.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll talk to you later, Flash.” He threw his backpack over his shoulder just as the final bell rang. “We’ll get the project done— I promise.”</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Peter was <em>so </em>close to the main entrance of the school when Harrington called his name. Five more steps, and he would have been done for the day. But—</p><p> </p><p>“Peter!”</p><p> </p><p>Peter turned on his heel. One hand wrapped tight around the strap of his backpack.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Harrington!” He said, smiling, because he’s Peter Parker and he’s polite, even when he’s in a rush. “Hi!”</p><p> </p><p>“Peter, can you come here for a second?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter wanted to groan. He wanted to roll his eyes, and say no, because he has places to be and people to help, and flowers to buy.</p><p> </p><p>He made his way, against the flow of traffic, over to Harrington.</p><p> </p><p>“You have model UN experience, right?” Harrington asked. Peter eyed him warily.</p><p> </p><p>“Some,” he said. Mostly from Freshman year, when he had spare time. He went to most of the meetings, but only ever attended a single conference downtown. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a small conference tonight,” Harrington said, “In the auditorium. We’re short a person, I was wondering if you’d be able to fill in. You know how I appreciate your outlook.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter made a face he learned from MJ.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, Mr. Harrington.” He shook his head. “I’ve got plans.” He looked past Harrington. His face broke into a smirk. He pointed. “I think Flash is free tonight, though.”</p><p> </p><p>When Harrington turned to address Flash, Peter snuckout of the building.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Dark clouds gathered over the city like a greyscale watercolor. Humidity hung in the air. It was going to rain soon.</p><p> </p><p>Peter had four hours.</p><p> </p><p>He did the usual rounds: helped old ladies cross the street, got leftovers from the butcher and fed them to stray dogs, stopped a mugging before it happened.</p><p> </p><p>The sky got darker. The wind picked up.</p><p> </p><p>He was on his way back to the apartment with <em>plenty </em>of time to shower and get changed when he heard the commotion. Yelling, and honking, and the sounds of car doors slamming. Below him, an intersection was overflowing: an agitated sea of yellow taxis and semi-trucks and Toyota Corollas. Hanging above them, swaying in the growing wind, was a blinking traffic light.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh oh,” Peter said. Some people were stepping out of their cars.</p><p> </p><p>He landed in the middle of traffic, hands up in a <em>stop </em>motion. “Hey everyone! Can we all just calm down and stay in our cars?”</p><p> </p><p>There was no traffic guard in sight. Sure, Peter had passed driver’s ed, but knowing how intersections work and actively directing them were two entirely different tasks.</p><p> </p><p>So he couldn’t direct traffic. That wasn’t his only option. He kept his arms out.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you all just stay in your cars?” He repeated as New York (being New York) continued to erupt in yelling and door-slamming and honking. “This should only take a few minutes!”</p><p> </p><p>And hopefully it would, because he needed to leave soon if he wanted to make it on time.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled himself up to the traffic light.</p><p> </p><p>It was bigger than Peter had expected. Its height spanned from Peter’s knees to the bottom of his chin. Up close, the blinking lights were like staring into a rave.</p><p> </p><p>(Why had he expected traffic lights to be, at most, the size of his forearm? These things were massive.P</p><p> </p><p>“Good thing I’m not moth man,” Peter laughed to himself. Then, “Karen— you have any idea how to fix one of these things?”</p><p> </p><p>“Let me check,” she said. Carefully, Peter unscrewed the LED panels and swung them open until he was staring at the panel inside of the light. The opened panels jumped in the wind. Peter was face-to-face with flashing lights on a motherboard. He frowned.</p><p> </p><p>“Karen?” He checked in.</p><p> </p><p>“A few wires came loose,” she told him. “It must have been the wind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fantastic,” Peter said. “An easy fix. That’s what I have time for.” </p><p> </p><p>It was not, of course, an easy fix.</p><p> </p><p>The wind smashed the panels into his fingers multiple times. The beginnings of a rainstorm— drizzle and cold— cut to his bones. The water also went right to the circuit board. In the span of time it took to dry off the board before reattaching each wire, he could have finished three times.</p><p> </p><p>Below him, traffic had only gotten angrier. Except, now, some of that anger was directed at him. People shouted for him to hurry up. Some accused him of messing up the light in the first place. Newcomers assumed he was the reason they were stopped at all.</p><p> </p><p>What should have been a five minute fix took fifteen. It had only gotten darker out. The wind had only picked up. Peter was already mentally writing the script for Jameson’s next Spider-Man segment:</p><p> </p><p><em>Spider-Man disrupts traffic by taking apart a traffic light! Clearly, he was trying to </em>cause <em>accidents. Why else would he have been messing with it so long?</em></p><p> </p><p>When the traffic light jumped back to life, Peter’s sighed with relief. He replaced the panels. The light turned green. He pumped his fist.</p><p> </p><p>Peter landed on a light post on the sidewalk. Below him, traffic had gone back to moving at a snail’s pace— an abundance of honking and yelling was replaced with the <em>usual </em>amount of honking and yelling.</p><p> </p><p>If Peter hurried, he could still make it on time. He readied himself to jump back into the air.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait! Spider-Man!” Peter turned. The owner of a flower stand was waving him over. He was covered in pollen, his white shirt speckled with a thick layer of neon green, with dark streaks where rain had displaced it.</p><p> </p><p>Peter waved at him. “Hey— you need something?” He asked, leaping from the top of one light post to the one right beside the cart.</p><p> </p><p>“You saved my son!” The man said. Up close, Peter could see there was pollen in his beard, too. “Last week— there was a fire in his apartment building on Laurel Street. You saved his life. I want to thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s all in a day’s work,” Peter said modestly. “Is he doing alright now?”</p><p> </p><p>The man nodded. “He’s working on getting a lease on a new apartment,” he said. Peter dropped down to the ground. “I want to—“</p><p> </p><p>He held out his fist. There was money shoved in it. “It’s not much, but I want to repay you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I appreciate it, but I don’t accept money,” Peter said.</p><p> </p><p>“Please. Take it.” He held his hand out farther.</p><p> </p><p>“Really, I can’t take that,” Peter said. He put his flat palm on his fist and guided it back to him. The owner of the flower stand looked between the money and Peter. He frowned, deep lines formed in his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s gotta be something I can do,” he said. “Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter clicked his tongue. “Tell you what,” He said. “I need some flowers for tonight. I’ll take a bouquet and we can call it even.”</p><p> </p><p>The man looked at the money again.</p><p> </p><p>“If you still want to give me the money, donate it to F.E.A.S.T in my name, but I’m not going to take it.”</p><p> </p><p>The man regarded him carefully, eyes searching the gossamer sheen of the mask. His face broke into a grin. “You got a deal!”</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>By the time Peter was done getting changed, the sky had opened. He ran three blocks with a muffin gripped in his mouth, flowers tucked under his arm, and his phone nearly falling out of the shallow pocket of his jacket.</p><p> </p><p>When he burst through the lobby doors, the security guards looked at him, startled. His sneakers squeaked on the tile. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes. His shirt was only half buttoned, his sports coat was soaked. He shook the bouquet of flowers over a trashcan in a weak attempt to dry them off.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I help you?” One of them asked. Peter offered a toothy smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m, uh. I’m here for the play,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“Right down the hall.” The guard pointed him toward a large, metal double door.</p><p> </p><p>When he opened it, it creaked long and low. The people seated near the entrance turned to look at him. Peter grimaced. He held a hand up. “Sorry,” he whispered.</p><p> </p><p>The lights in the theater were off. The only light was the fancy kinds on the outside of the walkways that just barely illuminated row letters.</p><p> </p><p>He was careful to walk on the carpet as he made his way over to his seat. Much to his own chagrin, getting seated meant climbing over the laps of people while whispering profuse apologies into the dark room.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re late,” Tony hissed when Peter finally dropped into his seat. Peter pushed the flowers into Tony’s lap while he struggled to finish buttoning his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“I know. Traffic jam. Did I miss anything?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just an announcement from the teacher. Donate to the drama department and all that.”</p><p> </p><p>“And did you?” Peter raised an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m a billionaire and I can’t spare a few dollars. Take the flowers back.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter held them between his knees.</p><p> </p><p>Someone tapped his shoulder. May was two seats down from Tony— sitting beside Pepper. She grinned at Peter and waved. “You made it!” She said just above a whisper.</p><p> </p><p>“Barely,” he agreed. He asked Tony, “You have a program?”</p><p> </p><p>Tony handed it over. Peter flipped through until he found what he was looking for.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Red Riding Hood…………. Morgan Stark</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s face lit up. The overture started. He handed the program back to Tony.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“Daddy! Mommy! Did you see that?” Morgan sprinted down the hallway. Her red cape flapped behind her. Her hair had been curled into tight ringlets that bounced as she ran. Her cheeks were flushed. She leapt straight into Pepper and Tony’s arms. Her little arms snaked around their necks, pulling their heads together against her own.</p><p> </p><p>“You did such a good job, kid!” Tony praised. “Who knew you could sing?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve heard me practice,” Morgan said.</p><p> </p><p>“This is the first time you’ve actually sounded good, though,” Tony teased. Morgan pulled a face at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t listen to him,” Pepper said. Gently, she cuffed the back of Tony’s head. “You were fantastic, sweetheart.”</p><p> </p><p>“I want an encore performance,” May agreed. “Will you come to the apartment and do it again for me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course!” Morgan said, as if May had asked the dumbest question she’d ever heard.</p><p> </p><p>And then she noticed Peter.</p><p> </p><p>“You made it!” She launched herself at him. Peter had to struggle to catch her with one arm. The other hand gripped the bouquet tight.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I did!” Peter said, indignant. “Do you think I was going to miss <em>Morgan Stark’s </em>debut performance?”</p><p> </p><p>She’d already drawn her attention to the flowers in his hand. “Are those for me?” She asked, taking the bouquet from his hands..</p><p> </p><p>“Morgan,” Pepper started to scold, but Peter put a hand up.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re actually for daddy,” he said gravely. “He sat really still in the audience, so I thought I’d reward him with flowers.”</p><p> </p><p>Morgan narrowed her eyes at him. Peter scowled back.</p><p> </p><p>They both burst into fits of giggles.</p><p> </p><p>“Peter, honey,” Pepper said. “We were going to get ice cream. Would you like to come?”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds great,” Peter said. “But I actually—“</p><p> </p><p>Morgan tugged on his sleeve. The flowers looked huge in her little arms. She frowned up at him. “Please?” She begged. “I haven’t seen you in <em>forever.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“You saw me last weekend,” he pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>“You left before cake,” she countered. That was true. He <em>had </em>left before cake. MJ had called him with information on Venom and he’d needed to leave.</p><p> </p><p>Peter sighed. “Where are we getting ice cream?”</p><p> </p><p>“We can give you a ride,” Tony said. “But you’re sitting in the backseat. You smell like wet dog.”</p><p> </p><p>“I used your cologne,” Peter said without skipping a beat.</p><p> </p><p>“Watch it,” Tony warned, “that costs more than I pay you in a year.”</p><p> </p><p>“One of these days we’re going to have a chat about wealth distribution,” Peter promised him.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want me to take back that phone I bought you?’ Tony retorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Boys,” May scolded. “I won’t buy you ice cream if you’re arguing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes ma’am,” Tony said. Peter stuck his tongue out at him behind her back. Tony swung a loose fist at him. Peter ducked under it easily. Morgan cackled.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, that’s enough.” Pepper put an arm around Tony’s shoulder and guided him away. She looked back. “You’ll have to sit in the back with Morgan, Pete.”</p><p> </p><p>Morgan’s face lit up.</p><p> </p><p>“Ha!” Tony teased.</p><p> </p><p>“You too,” Pepper said. “May’s sitting up front with me.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Ha,” </em>May said to Tony. “I’m Pepper’s favorite.”</p><p> </p><p>“Morgan, hold someone’s hand,” Pepper said as they stepped out of the school. It had stopped raining, and the air was musty. Rain on pavement. The slick tar of the parking lot glimmered under the streetlights.</p><p> </p><p>Morgan grabbed Peter’s hand. She hopped off the curb into a puddle. It splashed up, onto her cloak, onto the bottoms of Peter’s dress pants.</p><p> </p><p>Peter wanted to bottle up the laugh that escaped her lips: startled and pleased and lively. She stomped her foot again.</p><p> </p><p>“Morgan, honey, don’t—“ May started, but Peter had already joined her, splashing water up at her. Morgan squealed.</p><p> </p><p>“How old are you again?” Tony asked him, and before he even had a chance to notice the mischievous glint in Peter’s eyes, Peter had pulled him into the puddle, too. “Hey!”</p><p> </p><p>When he looked up from his (name brand, probably) shoes, Morgan and Peter were grinning at him. Instead of scolding them, he just spat out, “brats,” and splashed them back.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m leaving without you!” Pepper shook her keys. She didn’t look back, but she could hear them scrambling to get out of the puddle.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Moooom, </em>Tony started it!<em>” </em>Peter teased. He matched his step with her, shot her a puppy-dog look.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care if you’re not my kid, Peter,” Pepper promised, “I’ll kick your ass.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter laughed and pulled her into a sideways hug.</p><p> </p><p>“Daddy, I want Peter to sit next to me,” Morgan said.</p><p> </p><p>Tony shot him a look— fond and warm. “Wow,” he said, sarcastic. “I see how it is!”</p><p> </p><p>Peter would have given anything to know what he was thinking. They loaded into the car.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Questions? Comments? Concerns? Just wanna talk head canons or ask for a fic rec? Come find me on tumblr @dredfulhapiness ! My asks are always open, and I ALWAYS wanna chat</p></blockquote></div></div>
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